


It's Just So Typically Us

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Drinking, Hiatus, I dont know what else to add, M/M, Pre-hiatus, britney spears (music), but its not too sad i think, can maybe be considered hiatus?, for fobcc, like right before hiatus, ok so this is shippy but they're not quite together?, sort of drunk patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:09:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: "You can't slow dance to Britney Spears!"----For FOBCC. Might be angstier than it sounds





	It's Just So Typically Us

**Author's Note:**

> For Fall Out Boy Creation Challenge! The theme was Young and Menace and the prompt I got contained the lyrics "Oops, I did it again, I forgot what I was losing my mind about". 
> 
> This only felt natural

Patrick knows that the room should not be spinning as much as it is right now. Colored lights filter in and out of focus; voices dance through his head as shrieks and shouts prove that the party is going strong. Still, he reaches for the cup beside him— something bitter and warm and alcoholic— and takes another sip. He’s past the point of grimacing around the taste or gagging as it sloshes around his tongue before making its way to the back of his throat. He passed that point four songs ago, the pile of Solo cups littering the ground beneath the pool chair he’s seated in serving as a testament to how bad of an idea this ‘get together’ was. For him. Specifically.

Pete had suggested one last party before the band went their separate ways, one last _hurrah_ to end things on a good note. He’d invited most of their mutual friends here to keep it from getting too awkward. Even now, Patrick could hear Gabe and Travie still teaming up against William with splashes in the pool even as the other— more rational— people began to get out as it started to rain. A pool party had seemed like a good idea but the weather in LA can get sporadic. Even with the promise of a hot day and warm night, clouds still threatened to cover the sky.

Not everything goes the way it should and Patrick takes another drink.

Patrick blinks a number of times as he sets the now empty cup down, sighing as he debates his desire for another one. It’s getting dark and he might be getting tired now but, any moment, the fatigue will fade into a giddiness that no one should ever witness him in. He should go home before he does something stupid. He should sneak out and text the guys an apology for ditching but something in his mind— maybe the last sober part— is telling him it’s safer to stay outside. It’s safer to stay away from _someone_ hidden in the party.

But, as Patrick is rapidly finding out, not everything goes the way it should. The last of his drink slips through his veins with a heavy buzz, numbing his body and mind in every way he hoped it would. He shuts his eyes and hopes that maybe he can sleep away the strange feeling locked away in his chest. It might be sobbing or it might be the giggles; either way, he doubts he wants anyone here to find out.

Still. The tickling under his skin is a nice distraction from the faint memories that have been bothering him all day. He can only remember some shouting and a flurry of insults. He can remember wanting to cry and scream and hit something. He remembers wanting to drink away the thoughts and, as he struggles to remember what the thoughts were, he discovers he may have succeeded.

His face forms a lazy smile against his will and, maybe, he’ll be able to find some peace. Even if it is with the taste of an unrecognizable beer in the back of his throat.

Of course, that's when it happens.

The splash fight in the pool gets out of control. And Patrick ends up soaked.

“Wha’ the hell?” Patrick sits up suddenly with a shriek, nearly toppling out of the chair from his imbalance. The slur in his words and alcohol in his veins muffle some of the anger he might have felt or conveyed.“Wha— What the fuck, guys?”

Someone shouts an apology while others shoot out blame between their laughter. Patrick runs a hand through his sopping hair and shivers as the cool water drips down his neck and into his shirt. Not that his shirt isn’t already soaked through; he’s just glad he’s not wearing anything that would become sheer or tight in similar circumstances. Even with the weight he’s been losing recently— too much and too fast, someone with worried eyes had said— he’s still not ready to be too exposed to the world. Not yet but, hopefully, soon. He smiles at the thought and wrings the water from his shirt.

Once done with his clothes, Patrick stands and shakes his head to rid some of the excess water from his locks, feeling dizzy at the sudden action and laughing at the sensation. He could stay outside, he supposes, but the air is growing cold and he has no intentions to freeze to death. Why is he out here, anyway, when the house is so much warmer, so much more inviting with its music and pretty lights? Patrick turns to look at the house, smiling at the sight. It’s a familiar building, even if he’d never personally called it his home.

Pete’s house is almost a maze when it’s as crowded as it is and even more so when Patrick is as drunk as _he_ is. He walks straight ahead and into the building, smiling and nodding towards the people who may be calling his name and acknowledging his presence. Then again, they may be just as drunk as he— not that he would admit to being drunk at all. No promises that anyone actually means to speak to him.

The music in the house only grows louder, thrumming and pulsating with overwhelming energy, as Patrick makes his way further into the heart of the building. He recognizes the song as something poppy from a few years ago, something that hasn’t been played on the Top 40 radio in months. He means to continue walking, to set his sight on the front door, and to find safety from this bittersweet mess, but the bass in the song causes him to turn right, to face the music.

He’s always turning and obeying some form of bass.

One foot in front of the other, Patrick ventures into the large living room, where the couches and seats have been pushed to the walls to create a makeshift dancefloor. The people in the middle are clearly as drunk as Patrick, if not more, dancing and laughing in ways that the song clearly does not call for. Patrick shuts his eyes as he leans against the wall, appreciating what he came for— the music. He ignores the sounds of the people in this room and just pretends that it’s him and the music. It’s antisocial and maybe a bit unhealthy but, whatever. He reasons that, once the party is over, music will be all he’ll have for a few years. Just a few years, if the promises about this being a _break_ versus a _break-up_ are to be believed.

“Woah! Woah! Hey!” Someone’s laughing and shrieking and their voice is getting closer and Patrick opens his eyes to witness the second attack of the night.

Pete Wentz slams into him with a toothy smile and a hearty laugh, shoving both of them to the floor from an attempt to fly off some form of furniture, no doubt. Patrick lets out an _oof_ of surprise but nothing more as he tries to push Pete off of him, scrambling to make sure his hat wasn’t lost in the collision.

Pete refuses to budge.

“Oh,” Pete says, the smile suddenly falling. “Hey. Didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, I know,” Patrick says, the words tumbling from his lips a bit too fast to pass as completely sober. Pete bites his lip, hesitating as he lifts some weight off of Patrick. But he’s still laying on top of him. He’s still refusing to let either of them leave.

“Sorry. Are you okay?” He asks. Patrick does a mental scan of all his limbs and bones before nodding.

“Yeah, ‘nd you?” He asks. It’s a genuine concern but Pete pulls back, surprised, all the same.

“Yeah.” He finally stands and extends his hand to Patrick, helping him to his feet. “So. What do you think of the party?”

There’s something awkward in his words but, for the life of him, Patrick can’t figure out why.

“’s fine,” he says with a shrug. He looks down at his damp clothes and sighs, rambling to fill the strange silence in the middle of a roaring party. “I think Gabe splashed me, though.”

Pete raises an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I didn’t see it,” Patrick explains, trying to shift his weight but stumbling into the wall as he does so. “It might have been Bill or Travie, though. One of them.”

“Sounds likely,” Pete says, reaching out to steady Patrick. A second passes before he speaks again. “Look, Patrick, are we—”

“Why’re you playing old music?” Patrick asks suddenly, cutting Pete off. “Like. I thought you liked the newer stuff. You seemed excited to start playing newer stuff, I thought.”

Pete’s face falls and Patrick can’t help but feel guilty, his own smile sliding off his face.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to make you sad. I just thought you said that you wanted to play newer music and I thought that it was good that you were excited,” Patrick tries to explain. “Because, yeah, I don’t understand the music you like and you don’t like the music I understand or.....something. Right?”

Pete’s face goes through a number of emotions— from sad to defensive to confused to resigned and exasperated— by the time Patrick has finished with a heaving breath.

“Patrick, are we…are we still fighting?” He asks, at last. Patrick’s eyebrows furrow together.

“Fighting? I don’t remember fighting. I just remember—” He cuts off with a sudden gasp, his lips forming a comical _oh_ as something appears in his mind. It disappears into a bout of giggles as he smiles up at a baffled Pete. “Oh, oh, so that’s why I started drinking!”

“What? Christ, Patrick, I knew you were drunk but what on earth does that have to do with anything?” Pete asks. Patrick just continues to laugh, pushing at Pete’s chest as if trying to get him to understand the joke.

“We were fighting! I knew I was losing my mind about something earlier but I can’t remember it now. Mus’ be the beer.” He finally takes a breath and ceases his laughter, though his smile fails to fade. “I guess I didn’t want to remember fighting. I don’t like remembering that you don’t like me. And now I don’t! So now we can get along, now!”

Pete’s eyes widen at Patrick’s words, another gesture that causes the younger man to laugh. Another song starts and, this time, Patrick allows himself to be as excited as Pete was when he was launching off the couch mere minutes ago.

“Ooh! Ooh, it’s Britney! Can we dance to Britney? I have to go home and change my shirt but I wanna dance before I leave. I haven’t danced at the party yet and that’s not fair, I think,” he says, nodding like he makes perfect sense. Pete doesn't have time to answer before Patrick’s already tugging at his hand and trying to pull him onto the too crowded dance floor.

“Patrick, stop. We…We should…It’s getting late and the guests will leave soon and Ashley will be back and we should talk before any of that happens.” Pete’s voice is soft, a stark contrast to _Baby, One More Time_ blaring in the background of this scene. “I want to talk to you before you leave. Because I know you’re leaving and I don’t…It won’t be the same.”

It’s been too long since Patrick’s had a drink— or, at least, it’s been to long a break in the steady pattern he’d set up for himself tonight. His mind tries to clear and he distracts the sober and somber feelings with a forced laugh. It sounds more like a sob and he hates it, focusing on the spinning and jumping bodies just past Pete.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk right now,” he says, keeping the foolish joy in his tone. “Besides, you could always visit. Won’t you visit me, Pete? The band’s ending, sure, but we… _we_ don’t have to.”

“Patrick—” and Pete’s voice is pained, his eyes shut tight against Patrick earnest gaze, “ —I know that you know what we were fighting about and—”

“I don’t,” Patrick snaps, swaying on his feet as Britney hits the chorus. “C’mon, we’re missing the song.”

“Patrick,” Pete groans, giving up and following Patrick to the edges of the crowd, the room too closely packed to let them in much further. “Patrick, you’re too drunk to dance, right now. You’ll fall right over the second you start to do…whatever it is you do when you dance.”

“Not if—” Patrick bites his lip and he knows exactly what that does to Pete, “ —Not if we dance the way we did at that last party. The album release? I was drunker than this and I didn’t fall over.”

His arms are already wrapping around Pete’s waist, pulling him close. Pete’s already hiding his face in Patrick’s neck and swaying ridiculously to the sound of another poppy break-up song. Patrick pretends he’s too drunk to find the irony.

“You can’t slow dance to Britney Spears,” Pete complains. Patrick snorts at the statement but pulls Pete closer to him.

“Normal people wouldn’t. But this is just so typically us,” Patrick says, smiling as Pete speeds their beat up to something more akin to the fast-paced song behind them. But that doesn't change the fact that they’re still pressed body-to-body. They’re still embracing each other like they used to, before the fights and the cruel words from critics and fans. Before new girlfriends and wives and decisions to ‘take a break’. Before Patrick began to lose his mind.

“Wrong song, Trickster,” Pete jokes. A second passes. The song skips and stutters. Some girl shouts her protest and, just like that, the song is started over. As if it’s ever that easy to fix a bump in the road. “We’re gonna be okay. We just need some time apart, that’s all. We need to get over each other. It’ll be simple, okay?”

Patrick hates how the haze starts to fade from his mind; he hates how he’s beginning to tremble in Pete’s arms. He pulls away and looks into Pete’s warm brown eyes, memorizing the shade because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to be this close again.

“It might seem like a crush…” Patrick’s still smiling that stupid drunken smile, still adding laughter into all the places he wants to sob. Neither of them is buying it anymore.

“If you’re so stuck on that song,” Pete says, smiling and returning the false laugh Patrick had shared, “then you should know that it’s not serious enough to fight for. It’s going to fade and we’ll only hurt each other worse than we already are. I can’t keep hurting you, Trick.”

Patrick wants to look away but his vision is clearing and he can see that it pains Pete to say those words just as much as it does Patrick to hear them. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It doesn’t make him want Pete any less.

“I’m not stuck on that song! I just…” Patrick trails off, taking a deep breath. Pete waits, patient as ever. Patrick never lets his smile drop, remembers to add a laugh in all the right places. But, this time, nothing can hide the waver in his voice. Nothing can make this better. “When I’m not with you, I lose my mind.”

Pete smiles like it’s a joke. “Yeah, I know. And my loneliness will try to kill me when we’re apart and it feels like it’s not the way we planned it but—”

“No!” Patrick shouts, thankful for the music as it hides the sound from anyone but him and Pete. He suddenly feels sick— like all the alcohol is finally catching up to him— but he shakes his head vigorously and clenches his hands into fists all the same. “I do! I do lose my mind when I’m not with you! And I try so hard to forget— to try to at least _pretend_ that I can be sane by myself. But nothing works because you’re….you’re like a fucking Britney Spears song, so easy to get stuck in my head for no other reason than the fact that I took a minute to listen to you! And I know that people will think I’m pathetic for thinking about you all the time and having to go to such dire lengths to get rid of the thoughts. You’re every fucking Britney Spears love song because, you know what? You drive me crazy and I can’t sleep because of it. I’m addicted to you and it only gets worse anytime we kiss or even touch. I expected you to break my heart so many times before this and you acted like you didn’t know you were supposed to. But you were. And you did. And you know it.”

Patrick’s fighting back tears by the time he’s done. If he were more sober, more aware of the words spilling from his lips, he’d be embarrassed to know so many Britney lyrics right off the top of his head. As it is, he’s barely embarrassed enough to back away when Pete steps forward.

“Patrick,” Pete breathes, leaning down so the other boy can understand. “From the bottom of my broken heart, there’s just a thing or two I’d like you to know. You were my first love; you were my true love from the first kisses to the very last rose. Even though time may find me somebody new, you were my real love. I never knew love until there was you.”

Patrick blames the watery laugh and clouded eyes on the number of beers he had earlier, even when a few tears leak out.

“You ass,” he says, no real heat behind the words. “You can’t fucking quote an entire chorus at me and expect it to mean something. Besides, she was the one who wanted to get back together with someone else in that song. You don’t want to get back together. You just keep pushing me away.”

“I’m not pushing you away, Patrick. I’m just putting some distance between us. You know that we aren’t working well together right now. And I have Ashley and you have your music….maybe in a few years we can try again if those things work out. We’ll give it a break and….and we’ll come back stronger,” Pete says, quirking his lips up in a smile. Patrick forces himself to grin back, waiting until it feels real before speaking.

“Stronger than yesterday?” He jokes, letting his hands drop from Pete. He misses him immediately, feels the frenzy of pain and loss begin again in his mind. But he can also start to remember what the fight was about, can remember the cruel words and accusations that had been tossed around until he had ended it with Pete.

He had ended it with Pete. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to be so permanently but Pete has certainly had enough. And he’s right. Maybe they’re not right for each other today or tomorrow but they’ll get better. They’ll learn and they’ll wait. And, Patrick hopes desperately, they’ll be able to bury their weaker moments in a long forgotten _yesterday_.

“We’ll be alright,” Patrick says, smiling genuinely for the first time in the conversation. “Sorry. Sorry for the drama. I lost all my senses for a second there.”

Pete blinks. The song switches to some rap Patrick barely knows. The mood passes.

“You,” Pete begins, blinking again and beginning to grin. “You weren’t really that drunk, were you? You planned the conversation, let me fall into an emotional trap just so we could make up and stay friends or whatever.”

“C’mon, Pete,” Patrick says, adding a slur and stupid grin back to his words. “I’m not that mischievous.”

Pete rolls his eyes and lets his hands fall to his sides. “That’s _not_ how the song goes.”

Patrick looks away, finally noticing the lack of people in the room as the party begins to come to an end. “Maybe. But I don’t think I’ll be following anyone else’s music for a while.”

Pete nods, understanding of Patrick’s words.

“You’re gonna be great,” he says. Patrick blushes under the praise but pulls Pete in for one last hug.

“We’re not gonna see each other for a while but…can you still make me believe that we’re friends?” Patrick asks, one last strand of fear slipping out into the open. Pete’s arms tighten around him.

“We’ve always been more than just friends,” Pete says insistently. “Maybe it’s not in the way we’d like right now but you’ve always been my best friend. And I’ll do anything I can to make you believe that.”

Patrick smiles. He lets himself forget about all the things he’ll lose his mind about later while on the one-way flight to Chicago. He lets himself forget about the pain and wanting and need he’ll feel for days or months or years. He lets the hug linger; he lets himself collapse in Pete’s guest bedroom to sleep off the drunken feeling of knowing that not everything goes the way it should.

But, maybe, Pete and Patrick just might.  

**Author's Note:**

> So. Like. Why do so many Britney Spears songs work so well with Pete and Patrick? Like. I was going through an entire playlist of Britney Spears and discovering that "woah, I could totally extend [insert song] into a Peterick fic". I won't though. Not yet anyway.
> 
> Speaking of "anyway": Anyway! This sort of diverted away from the original idea I had but I desperately hope it makes sense with the prompt. If you have any questions about it (because God knows I can't do oneshots or whatever this is-- I always want to sneak more plot and subplot into it), let me know in the comments! (god i sound like an annoying youtuber.....at least this is a oneshot thing and you don't have to subscribe!)
> 
> Regardless, please leave comments letting me know what you think and have a wonderful day/night!


End file.
